Chapter Six
Mal
Mal had a thing for formidable women. He came from a long line of them: his mother, Lena Waters, had graduated summa cum laude
from Caltech in computer science and had once successfully warded off sexual harassment in her workplace by smashing a keyboard
over the head of a senior developer who had tried to feel her up. And he was pretty sure that his grandmother, Coretta, had
murdered her abusive first husband (the formal reports said that he’d died, drunk, in a shed fire, but she liked to drop sly
hints that she’d helped it along with some lighter fluid). Through stories and aged photographs, he’d learned of his great-great-grandmother
Paulette, who’d bought a small ranch for her eight children in the Reconstruction era South and protected it with a shotgun
half her size.
So when Portia first marched across the quad on his college campus to demand that he stop going out with Marilyn Fletcher
and date her instead, he’d been so floored by the familiarity that he’d muttered, “Okay,” and texted Marilyn his apologies
on the spot.
And now, looking at this message from Jo, he felt like there was no world in which he could refuse.
“Yoooooo,” Kelechi said, cackling, when she read the message. “Who is this woman? Was she like this in real life?”
Mal thought of the ease with which Jo had grabbed his hand and dragged him out of her room, how being in her presence felt
like being swept up in a tornado. Terrifying. Riveting.
“Yes,” he said, wiping a hand down his face to hide his grin.
“I have got to look her up,” Kelechi said, and seconds later Jo’s smooth alto filled the room.
“It’s time for another episode of Dr.Jojo’s ‘Birds and the Bees,’ where I answer the questions you couldn’t ask in sex ed.
So let’s start with this one: ‘My boyfriend and I have been together for six months. I was a virgin before I met him. A week
ago, I started having a burning sensation when I peed, and so I went to go get tested and was positive for chlamydia. He swears
that he isn’t cheating. Is it possible to just get chlamydia out of nowhere?’
“Well, Jiminsprettyprincess, that’s a great question. First, let’s keep in mind that many sexually transmitted infections—or
STIs, as you might hear them called—are silent. This means that you can be infected without symptoms for a long period of
time. Here are the facts: people with penises are less likely to experience symptoms with STIs and are therefore less likely
to get tested. So before you let them anywhere close to your bits without barriers, you need to—”
“Why am I getting seduced by some woman educating the masses about venereal diseases?” Kelechi said, lowering her screen in
awe. “I’m in love. I think I might have to fight you for her.”
Mal laughed, but Kieran was uncharacteristically quiet, looking thoughtfully at the floor.
“You good?” Mal asked, and when Kieran turned to look at him, he guessed where his friend’s thoughts led. After all, he’d been Mal’s roommate for years and had had a front row seat to his last relationship’s recurrent meltdowns.
“You have a type,” Kieran said finally, exhaling.
“Yeah?” Mal said, holding back the edge in his voice. “And what’s that?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. Ambitious. Assertive,” Kieran said, counting off qualities on his fingers. “Toxic as fuck.”
“That isn’t fair,” Kelechi whined, sticking out her bottom lip. She’d scrolled through multiple videos and had been snickering
to herself. “Jo isn’t toxic. She’s a badass. Nothing like...” She paused, catching herself, and Mal held back a sigh.
“Nothing like Portia, yes,” Mal finished. As if on cue, Kieran and Kelechi winced, and an old shame bubbled in his stomach.
He’d put his friends through so much in the final act of his relationship, but he wished they could stop treating him like
he would splinter at the sound of her name. He was better now. He had a book deal to show for it. A mortgage. A life that
had direction. I’m fine , he wanted to tell them. And even if nothing comes out of this, I’ll still be fine.
Harvey started to wail from his room and Kieran rocked himself to his feet. He looked weary, two years of sleep deprivation
slackening the skin in his cheeks.
“Just be careful,” Kieran said, before disappearing down the hall.
Kieran’s warning bounced around Mal’s head as he and Kelechi plotted how to respond to Jo’s request for dinner. Kelechi insisted that he take the reins—“It’s hotter if you plan it, especially if she initiated, so she knows you’re really interested, you know”—which spurred a discussion about what exactly one did on a first date in one’s thirties. Especially when the date in question wasn’t an easily impressed college student but a grown woman with a doctorate, rich friends, and expensive taste. Google searches for “first date ideas Chicago” yielded generic results. Dinner for dinner’s sake seemed a bit uninspired, and he knew he couldn’t afford the kind of dining experiences the Adelmans probably treated her to on a weekly basis.
If only this were a romance novel. No one went on clumsy first dates in romance. They professed their love in the middle of
vicious fights, seconds before tumbling into bed, or were driven to five-star restaurants in long limos by butlers who showed
up at their place of work. They stumbled into each other repeatedly at their competing bakeries or business trips or vacations,
and they never had to ask each other what they were doing, because they both obviously knew.
Eventually, Kelechi let out a squeak.
“This restaurant does cooking classes! You should do that,” she declared. When he raised an eyebrow, she continued. “Less
basic than just a meal, and you get to show off your skills. Plus, they have a clear start and end. If you realize you don’t
mesh, you can just focus on the task.”
It was a brilliant idea, and Mal immediately put it into motion. He confirmed a time and a place ( Friday at seven? Il Latini? ) and let out a slow exhale when Jo responded immediately ( See you there ), before forwarding her number.